Schultz

6

On that sumptuously lunched afternoon, Schultz wasted no time in getting in touch with Harley Street. Five minutes later having ashen faced reappeared from the water closet and sat a moment wiping his brow, and then jumping to his feet and with fists clenched, he could be overheard screaming at his Lordship’s and Binky’s beloved curvaceous and statuesque secretary Rebecca.

“Yes, I want a certain kind of doctor in Harley Street.”

“What kind sir.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said, a certain kind. Don’t you know what kind that is.”

No journey was ever as dark. Or London buildings so grey. This late afternoon up a thronged Regent Street. Schultz, his white knuckles gripped on each knee held on to himself as his taxi rolled around a sombre Cavendish Square. And turned north into Harley Street where one block further on, Schultz found himself along a dark passage in a chilly water closet, pissing into a bottle.

“Christ even my kidneys are hurting now. I can’t just let myself die. Not in the middle of what could be my first chance of a big hit. With a fucking eruption of money. Soaking me right through to my skin.”

A more than somewhat attractive nurse smilingly taking the urine warm vial from Schultz. And then being led back upstairs, watching her lean shapely legs flexing before him, Schultz tripped. And again aroused the painful maim in his toes. To limp on the arm of the nurse into a large office to sit before this bowtied and suede waistcoated medical gentleman. Who increasingly creased his forehead, and as Schultz again explained his diseases, deepened his frown and finally removed his glasses.

“Well Mr. Schultz, although I’ve not heard of it up until five o’clock today, believe me it’s entirely possible that something resembling this Oriental Venereal Plague you speak of exists. And that our medical service would be most concerned. Of course I’ll have it checked immediately. But I hardly think the World Health Organization would fail to signal it to the medical world. Now you say this Dutch lady is no longer resident in your household. Do you have her address.”

“Address.”

“Yes.”

“Hey doc, if you don’t mind I’d like not to get into that kind of stuff. And start handing out private addresses. Like you, I’ve got a kind of confidential occupation.”

“Mr. Schultz, I regret to say, it’s not only her address I’d like. But I should also require the address of anyone with whom you’ve had any sexual intimacy of any kind since you met the Dutch girl.”

“Wow. This is a kind of a shakeroo, doc.”

“Yes I know. And indeed, no doubt, it will be fraught with possible embarrassment for you. But I assure you it’s all kept extremely confidential until such time as we discover whether or not you are infected. And that will take at least until the report comes back from the laboratory. It is a precaution we must take for the benefit of others. Anyway for a start let’s take a peek in your mouth. Have any difficulty in swallowing.”

“No.”

“Just open. Yes. I see. Throat glands seem all alright. Well it may be too early but you’re not exhibiting the signs of mumps and your mouth seems perfectly healthy. Indeed I’ve rarely seen a better set of teeth. Well then. So far, so good. But in respect of this other more serious matter, we must know Mr. Schultz, if you have had sexual intercourse or intimacy with anyone else since meeting the Dutch girl.”

“Doc, look, I’m in the theatre, you understand. And you kind of sometimes find yourself with various people a lot.”

“I see. Does this mean there are others who may be involved in exposure.”

“Yeah.”

“Might I ask, how many.”

“Doc, look, do you want me to be honest.”

“That would help considerably.”

“Well the truth is I don’t know how many.”

“I see.”

“I mean don’t think I’m promiscuous. I mean I can remember some of them.”

“I see.”

“But doc Jesus don’t ask me to make a list of addresses.”

“This is Mr. Schultz, I assure you, a medical matter not a moral one. So now if you would just please lower your trousers, I’ll examine you.”

Schultz stood staring out a parting in the curtain beyond these pale glassed Georgian panes watching the other medical windows lighting up across the street as he was examined. The doctor saying he could as yet see no definite signs of pathology. But would, if Mr. Schultz would just milk his organ in a downward fashion, take a penis tip smear. And then a blood sample. Which latter nearly made Schultz faint. And at the office door came the doctor’s parting advice.

“Have a little drink for yourself Mr. Schultz on the way home. And do take care of that black eye.”

Evening rush hour traffic was throbbing as Schultz stopped his taxi on the way back to Belgravia. And bought a flask of whiskey. To uncork it and for the first time in his life to take a neat nip from the bare bottle of this spirit burning down his throat. To rush across the carpet the moment he got back into his hallway. Where the phone was ringing.

“Is this you.”

“Yeah who’s this.”

“This is Al. You really lousy son of a bitch.”

“What did I do now Al.”

“What did you do now. I’ll tell you what you did now. You put her in hospital. With the beautiful kid having a nervous breakdown. And her mother hysterical crying on the telephone to me just a minute ago. That’s what you did now.”

“Hey Al, can I just gently tell you one thing.”

“What gently are you going to tell me. That you broke your prick trying to fuck her, is that what.”

“No that’s not what. I’m going to tell you if you’d listen that she’s kidding for Christ’s sake.”

“Kidding. When she had to have X rays and serious tests. You call that kidding.”

“Yeah, I’m calling it kidding. Her two ton mother was there eating caviar while her daughter was having her hair done by some Bond Street transvestite and the place was filled with flowers.”

“Did you send her flowers.”

“No Al, I did not send her flowers.”

“Well I sent the girl flowers.”

“O.K. Al, so you sent her flowers. I know that was a wonderful gesture, but why didn’t you send her also a bible, a rosary, a yarmulke.”

“Hey don’t you get smart with me wise guy.”

“Look Al.”

“You look. I don’t give a damn about you running some kind of whorehouse you got there. Girls knocking on the door around the clock. But you’re not going to do this to that girl.”

“Do what and nobody’s knocking on my door. I’m a producer for fucks sake. I got to see girls all the time. And hey Jesus Al, just by the way you know, you got fucking girls girls girls coming and going day and night.”

“Yeah but there’s a difference. I’m mature about it.”

“Holy shit Al, I’m not going to get anywhere talking to you. Especially when what happened was that that poor girl’s two ton mother was waking the dead and gave me a black god damn eye.”

“Ha ha ha hey that’s good.”

“You think that’s funny Al.”

“Yeah I do. It’s exactly like you deserve. Now you go back to that hospital and apologise. Or else I’ll see to it that your name is such mud in this town that it wouldn’t be worth scraping off a shoe.”

“What is this, blackmail Al.”

“You get to that fucking hospital like I’m telling you that’s all.”

“I just come this second in from the doctor’s.”

“So what’s wrong with you. And what’s that noise.”

“They don’t know yet. And I’m drinking whiskey, that’s the noise. It’s going to take tests to find out what’s wrong. Now hey come on Al, this is all unreasonable.”

“What for you to throw this girl out. The most beautiful creature ever to cross my threshold, that I sent over to you.”

“Al you’re deluded, I’m hanging up. I’ve had enough of people for one day.”

“Well before you hang up you son of a bitch, and let me tell you, you don’t deserve what I’m going to tell you.”

“Tell me fucking what.”

“That’s there’s an Irishman who’s hit town.”

“So what am I supposed to do.”

“See him, that’s what. He’s built like a lion, moves like a cat, dances like Nijinsky, sings like Caruso and could act every leading man off the London stage blindfolded in a jock strap while crooning Rule Britannia.”

“Al he should be in a circus.”

“Look you fucking know it all. Four Hollywood producers right at this moment are gasping trying to sign him.”

“Jesus Al, is this no shit.”

“It’s no shit.”

“No kidding, we’ll forget the blindfold and jock strap, where can I see him.”

“At night he sleeps in Brompton Cemetery.”

“Come on Al, I’ve had enough bullshit for one day. I’m hanging up and going to bed.”

“I’m telling you that’s where he sleeps.”

“O.K., O.K. that’s where he sleeps. So you can get him to my office.”

“He won’t go to offices.”

“So how am I going to see him.”

“Go to the cemetery.”

“Holy fucking christ Al, I’ve been through hell today. And you’re sending me to the cemetery tonight.”

“Do you want to have the chance to star a discovery that could give you the biggest hit this town has ever seen in years.”

“Sure I do. But you’ve been wrong before Al.”

“I’m not wrong tonight. Go I’m telling you.”

“O.K. Jesus Al I must be out of my mind. I’ll go. First thing in the morning.”

“Go right now.”

“Now, Al.”

“Yeah, now.”

“How do I know where to find him. It’s dark any minute and the cemetery will be closed.”

“Go just past the hospital and when you get about twenty yards along the cemetery fence, just shout in that Al sent you.”

“Thanks Al. This is sure a great way to cast my show. And I’m really going to appreciate it after the day I’ve already had, to end up yelling my head off into a cemetery. Let me tell you sincerely I don’t need more jokes. But believe it or not I’m going.”

Schultz hailing the taxi across the street just disembarking two attractive ladies in front of the Ambassador’s house. The driver turning around to look at him as he gave his destination.

“Hey Gov. You mean Brompton Cemetery.”

“Yeah that’s just what I said.”

“That’s what I thought you said sir. Which entrance. It’s got two. Old Brompton Road. And Fulham Road.”

“Is there a hospital.”

“Yes.”

“Near that entrance.”

“Sir you do know the cemetery is closed at this time.”

“That’s O.K.”

Schultz alighting by the fence. And looking back at the hospital. Its eminently legible sign up on its wall. Princess Beatrice. Schultz handing the taxi man a crisp ten shilling note.

“Thank you Gov and I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Steam escaping from a pipe high up on the hospital wall. And Schultz counting the rungs along the fence. The grey and white shadows of tombs far into the darkness. Trees branching up into the night. A gentle rain falling. Holy Jesus what am I doing persecuting myself like this. On this fucking godforsaken night I could get my head stuck between the bars of the fence looking for somebody I never heard even existed before.

Schultz looking up and down the road. A man across the street walking his dog. On the corner across from the hospital, the welcome life giving lights of a pub. A laden red double decker bus swaying and roaring by. Marked seventy four. And one coming in the opposite direction with ZOO as its final destination. A limping man approaching. Who now veered out near the curb as he passed, flicking suspicious glances at the loitering Schultz. Holy christ that fucker thinks maybe I’m a grave robber or something.

Schultz waiting till the way was clear. Nervously whistling the tune, Marching Through Georgia. The limping man taking one more look back and disappearing around the corner of the hospital. Schultz now cupping his hands up to his mouth. And whispering through the rungs of the fence.

“Al sent me.”

Schultz again looking over his shoulder. The limping gent back in sight and again stopped, staring back. Schultz in his best ivy league nonchalant amble walking onwards along the fence. To stop and turn around to still see the limping man standing looking back. Holy fucking christ. Somebody already thinks I’m nuts. If this is some kind of joke. I don’t give a shit how fucking weak Al’s heart is, in two minutes I’m going to go over there to his place and bust him one right in his middle aged guts.

Schultz walked to the cemetery entrance. Flanked by grey stone gate lodges. And locked from the world by great high impenetrable iron gates. Inside, a straight road disappearing away into the middle darkness between mausoleums and now in a sudden burst of cloud uncovered moonlight, the distant outline of a church. The sidewalk clear again. Schultz walking back towards the hospital. Looming up with its yellow lighted windows. What a place to be looking down at full of gravestones while you’re trying to recover. And tonight I got to go home now to see if I’m losing fistfuls of my pubic hair. Shout this time real loud. And wake the fucking dead the place is full of.

“Al sent me.”

Schultz waiting. His voice even echoing back as he stood staring around behind. And at a couple across the street. Stopping to look over. Bigger and better and harder rain drops falling. Jesus while I’m getting really fucking wet I may as well throw caution to the wind. And holler at the top of my fucking lungs.

“Al sent me.”

Schultz tightly pushing his face to peer between the bars. Removing his sunglasses. Scanning the dark shadows. The white sepulchres. All the broken and leaning tombstones. Al fucking well better say his prayers. Nothing. Not a sign. Of life. Except footfalls. Directly behind me. And somebody else thinking I’m nuts.

“Ere ere, sir, can I be of any assistance to you.”

Schultz spinning around. Undoing his fists still gripped to the bars like the inmate of a prison. And scraping the cheek of his face on a black paint peeling rung.

“No that’s all right constable. I was just looking in.”

“In the cemetery.”

“Yes. I heard there was someone who is famous could be in there. I sort of was trying to read the gravestone.”

“You mean was famous, don’t you sir.”

“Yeah that’s right.”

“Well a bit dark now for that kind of thing, sir.”

“Yeah I guess it is.”

“American are you sir.”

“Yeah I am.”

“On a visit are you.”

“That’s right.”

“And spending a bit of overtime are you on the sightseeing.”

“Yeah.”

“Ah well, welcome to England sir. Enjoy yourself. And don’t miss the Tower of London.”

“No I won’t thanks.”

Schultz watching the policeman strolling off. His blue cape spread over his shoulders and the thud of his heavy black gleaming shoes on the pavement. Until his easy gait took him further and further safely away. Past the cemetery entrance. Towards the great massive roof on the skyline and a bridge in the distance where the flash of electricity shot in the sky from passing trains.

Schultz gathering the moist evening air and diesel fumes up his nostrils and down in his lungs. To again give one more most impassioned shout.

“Al fucking well sent me god damn it. Will you speak up if you’re in there.”

Schultz slowly stepping back from the fence. Thinking he was seeing a ghost. Stopping only as he was nearly killed backing off the curb. An approaching bus beeping its horn. Schultz jumping forward again to the safety of the pavement. To there turn shaking his fist at this roaring public transport, which with its big back wheel passing through a puddle sent a full frontal wave of muddy water splashing Schultz head to toe.

“Fucking god damn hell.”

Laughter bellowing out inside the cemetery. And a face rising up on top of a massive hulking shape now getting closer and hunched like a gorilla, growling the other side of the rusting fence.

“Who the fuck wants me.”

“Al sent me. Al Duke.”

‘And what the fucking hell do you mean by interrupting my sleep like that sonny.”

“Holy christ you really exist.”

“Of course I fucking exist, would you think I didn’t. Sure what aria from Puccini do you want to hear.”

“No aria. Look, would you do me a big favour.”

“Ah now that all depends.”

“Would you just please come and see me at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Here, my address is on this piece of paper and either of these telephone numbers will get me.”

“Sure my name’s Terence F. X. Magillacurdy and I come to see no man.”

“Hey look, it’s not to see me. All I want to do is talk to you. In private. And maybe even beg you.”

“For what now would you be begging me.”

“To take a part in a show. It could mean Hollywood for you.”

“Well for a start you can stuff Hollywood straight up your American arse me boyo.”

“O.K. that’s swell with me. Believe me, I understand completely how you feel. No problem. But christ I nearly got arrested trying to find you here. Please. Just come to my house. Ten minutes of your time. Three o’clock tomorrow. I’m on bended knee to you.”

“Ah me boyo bend your knee to no man. But seeing as you’ve taken a bath in a street puddle to find me, sure you know, you have the vague possibility of being likeable. Stand up now. That’s it. Open your ears.”

Schultz standing back as Terence F. X. Magillacurdy’s lungs inflated. The lamplight through the bars of the fence cutting across this Roman Emperor’s face. As exquisite melodious song arose from this giant man’s throat. And flooded the length of Old Brompton Road one end to the other. People stopping on the pavement and appearing curtain twitching at windows of a block of flats. The door of a funeral furnisher just up the street opening. A late working mortician in his apron looking down the road. A shade in the hospital going up. A white capped nurse peering out. And Schultz pushing his address and telephone numbers through the rungs of the fence.

“That’s beautiful see you tomorrow and excuse me for running. I can’t afford to be arrested here with you.”

Schultz turning and trotting away, the Irishman’s laughter erupting in his song following him crossing the street. And up along a crescent of houses where Schultz calmed and walked again to reach the blissful anonymity of Warwick Road. Still hearing the Irishman’s distant dulcet voice singing over the rooftops.

O Danny boy

The pubs, the pubs

Are calling

From Piccadilly

All the way

To Camden Town

The voice drowned now by the clanging bell of a police squad car as Schultz flagged a taxi. Taking a deep breath as he put his head back resting on the seat. The soothing throb of the taxi’s diesel engine motoring between these shadowy massive mansions. Once peopled with servants and rich mercantile families. Now catacombed with Australians. Jesus what a struggle it is to climb up on top like a hero. And soon as you do everybody is pulling open your shoelaces.

Taxi now passing a little park. Earl’s Court Square. And into the more sedate streets. The white painted elevations of South Kensington. Theatre goers. In there behind their polished windows, sparkling tables set for dinner. Guests arriving for cocktails. Little children safe upstairs with nanny in nursery. If only I had that kind of a childhood being read bedtime stories before you go to sleep. Instead of sneaking drags of a cigarette up some garbage strewn alley in the bleak depths of America. And now with one’s own entrails maybe wracked with clap eating at my guts already.

The brakes squealing as the taxi came to a halt in front of Sigmund Schultz’s Belgravia town house. Schultz paying another crisp ten shilling note to the driver wreathed with a big broad grin.

“Squire you had me worried. I’m the one brought you to the cemetery. You got a spot or two of mud on you. And glad to bring you back. Had meself a quiet cup of tea at Earl’s Court there and picked you straight up again as my fare. Things all right at the cemetery.”

“They were fine.”

“That’s good, glad to hear it sir, goodnight.”

Butler drawing the drapes of the Ambassador’s dining room across the street. Schultz up the steps to his own gleaming front door. Two brass keys to turn in two brass locks. And my own drapes closed across the downstairs window. Don’t even remember doing it after this fucking long hard day. Of my heart having to suddenly start beating again just when I thought it had no beats left. At least no behemoth is waiting tonight to come charging at me. Jump in a hot enough bath and could kill some of these microbes. If my prick and balls can stand it. And then my god almighty, after a day like today, I hope I can fall asleep.

“Surprise, Sigmund.”

Schultz as his hand was about to land on the light switch of the library. Was in a flood of light coming out of the dining room door just behind him. And hands folded angelically and all smiles in a long black clinging evening gown, stood Pricilla.

“Darling. Darling. I’m back.”

“Hey what the fuck’s going on.”

“Darling, come. I’ve nearly got it all ready. Everything. All for you. Champagne. Caviar. Smoked salmon. Chicken in aspic. Gulls’ eggs, everything you love. For us to have a feast. To celebrate.”

“Celebrate what.”

“Darling, that I’ve come out of hospital well again, of course. And all safe and back into your arms.”

“You looked fine to me on the floor before you went in.”

“That’s churlish of you to say. Don’t be churlish. And meanie. Come in. Into the dining room. Come now. In here. It’s all the food mother and I had left over at the hospital.”

“I got no appetite.”

“You will have soon darling.”

“Why.”

“Because of what I’m going to tell you.”

“Hey what’s that fucking thing.”

“That’s my big teddy bear Boobles.”

“You’re asking me to come sit down with a fucking teddy bear at the head of my own table with a place all set for him.”

“Darling. Please. I want to tell you something. And I’m going to use that horrid word.”

“What are you talking about.”

“Darling you can fuck me till your heart’s content tonight.”

“Holy Jesus christ what are you saying.”

“You heard me darling.”

“Hey wait a minute. This whole transformation is all taking me pretty suddenly.”

“And that’s how I want you now darling to take me. Naked and suddenly. Tie me up and whip me. Rape me.”

“Just a minute. Hold it. Never mind the sadism. Just how come the big change honey.”

“Darling what change.”

“Your mother was out there only last night trying to beat my brains out on my own stoop with her umbrella.”

“O darling darling, things like that are past. Don’t you understand. Past. Gone and forgotten.”

“Like this black eye I got from your mother’s fist.”

“O my poor darling. It’s going to be all right believe me. No please, let me kiss it for you. Let me kiss it. I’ll kiss you all over tonight. Even your arse.”

“So you’re going to kiss my arse. Well that’s what you can do, kiss my arse.”

“Don’t say it like that darling.”

“I’m saying it just like you said it. Christ I don’t even know where the fuck I am.”

“Darling you’re with me. With me. You are. And here, my little kisses all over your spotty face for my poor little sweetie pie.”

“Hold it, hold it honey. Wait a minute. Please. Stop the smothering.”

“Why are you pulling away like this.”

“I got to understand what’s all the big change all of a sudden.”

“Nothing has changed darling, I’m simply yours.”

“Well I’ve just been to the doctor’s. And he says I got a raging kind of possible pneumonia or something he thinks could be coming on due to strain and overwork. Plus a toothache. I could contaminate you.”

“Then darling, contaminate me.”

“Jesus baby don’t rush me a second. First just let me change out of my wet clothes.”

“Darling, you are wet.”

“That’s what I said. I need a hot bath. I’m going upstairs.”

“Of course darling you need a hot bath. Now I know how busy you are. How did you get all spotted.”

“That’s how I got spotted. Because I’m busy.”

Schultz up the stairs two at a time to exercise his thigh muscles. Pricilla holding up her long gown as she followed.

“Yes I know. Al told mother and me. He’s been so sweet.”

“What did he tell mother and you.”

“About your rehearsal. And all how it might be a wonderful hit.”

“You mean my show a hit.”

“And mother and I think it’s so marvellous for you.”

“Look honey, nothing’s wonderful. And I haven’t got anything together yet that even remotely looks like a hit.”

“You haven’t.”

“No. Nobody knows what the fuck’s going to happen till after six months it’s already a hit and when that’s happened and then it’s booked out solid for another year in advance you might lean back a bit for two seconds and say you got a hit. Otherwise all you got is a hit on the head.”

“Well Al said you had a hit on your hands. And at a time like that mother said she felt you needed me near you.”

“Boy your fucking mother knows exactly the time for you to make yourself an adaptable human being.”

“And what does that mean.”

“Forget it honey, forget it. Jesus the fucking bulb’s gone out for the bathroom.”

Schultz standing on a chair lugged in from the hallway. Pricilla holding up a new bulb. And her other hand gripping the chair back as Schultz reached to extract by twists, turns and tugs the old bulb from its socket.

“Jesus this fucking thing won’t move. God damn it.”

“Be careful Sigmund, the chair. O my god the leg is breaking.”

Schultz in his sudden downward descent two handed grabbed the light shade as a parachute. His fingers tearing through the blue parchment and eagerly anchoring around the wire frame. A rip and a crack of ceiling plaster. A flash of electricity and smell of burning as Schultz fell bringing an ersatz Georgian ceiling medallion down fragmenting on his head. As the whole house fused into darkness.

“Fucking bloody cunt. This fucking bloody house and all its god damn phony two bit furniture.”

“O darling are you hurt.”

“No just my fucking toes maimed again. Now how am I going to find the god damn fuse box when I don’t even know where the lousy thing is.”

“Anger will get you nowhere darling.”

“Like fuck it won’t boy. I’ll kick the shit out of this house. Till I find it. As if enough didn’t happen to me today.”

Schultz undressed by candlelight. And sipped a glass of champagne, sucking back the delicately oily grey teardrops of caviar. Lying back in the bath covered to the chin in foam. Big Ben tolling eight bells. Pricilla leaning over the porcelain edge on her elbows staring at him in adoration. And in the flickering yellow glow she helped dry.

“My Sigmund you do have such a big prick and balls.”

“That’s right honey. Inherited from my grandfather.”

“Do you like me to do this to you.”

“It’s swell honey, it’s swell.”

“Well I’m going to stop because I want to save it all for when we get to bed.”

“Hey honey, do we have to have this big occasion exactly tonight. I’m kind of really knocked out from the day’s events.”

“You’re standing there with an enormous erection.”

“I know I am honey, I know it.”

“Well you’re not that tired out then.”

“No you got a point there honey.”

“It’s you who has the point. And it’s such a nice big handsome one. And I want you to put it in me.”

“Sure honey, sure.”

“I really mean that, Sigmund.”

“Sure I know you do honey. Don’t get upset. It was only that I think we should wait for a real special moment that’s all.”

“Haven’t you been screaming at me. And yelling that you want satisfaction and a normal sex life. Well that’s what I’m fucking well going to give you, when you fuck me tonight.”

“Hey christ, the language honey. Watch it. What’s got into you.”

“Nothing. But tonight, you are.”

O.K.

I’m convinced

O.K.